15. Gli eremiti dellamore
15
Gli eremiti dell'amore
The Love Hermits
Bridget
I ’ve died and gone to heaven. It might be because it’s the first decent food I’ve had in days—Omar made me stick to bread and other dry stuff once I stopped resembling Regan from The Exorcist.
I take another large bite of the Pizza Margarita and the cheesy goodness melts in my mouth.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Omar moans opposite me. After Maurizio, one of Cecilia’s boyfriends, helped Omar to get the car back to the B&B we went in search of food. There are plenty of restaurants overlooking the bay, but as we have done for most of our trip, we avoided the obvious tourist traps and found a tiny place two streets over from our accommodation instead.
There’re no linen napkins or menus in five different languages, but therefore it has the authentic feel of a little family run ristorante, and hands down the best pizza in the world.
“So good,” I agree with Omar. I fold another slice in half and lift it to my mouth. Omar thought he’d be teaching me something new when we had our first pizza in Milan and I had to explain that I love old movies from the 50s and 60s, and I learned the pizza folding trick from the glorious Sophia Loren. I adore her and Cary Grant in Houseboat . I recapped almost the whole film and it was one of many times when Omar just looked at me with an unreadable expression. I swear he thinks I’m a weirdo.
We finish our pizza in silence only broken by the occasional moan. I didn’t think I was that hungry but once the Margherita pizza was in front of me I practically inhaled the whole thing.
“ Ti è piaciuto il pasto? ” the young waitress asks as she clears the table.
“ Sì, grazie ,” Omar replies. “She wanted to know if you enjoyed your meal,” he explains for my benefit. I give the waitress a big smile and nod enthusiastically.
She leaves and we fall silent. Omar fiddles with the glass in his hand, avoiding my eyes. I want to know what’s going on his head but I’m not sure if I can ask.
“Bri…” he breaks the silence, “I really want to apologise for causing such a mess. It was a ridiculous idea and I’ve no clue why I thought it was smart to say we’re married.” He gives me a sheepish look. “You know when you open your mouth before you think? It was that kind of situation. I just thought we need a room and—”
“And you fell foul of a stupid stereotype.” I finish for him. “I’m surprised given how much you have travelled, I thought you’d be more openminded.” I lean back and take a sip from my wine.
“We all have our prejudices, as much as we don’t want to,” he replies.
“Wise beyond your age,” I giggle.
“You make it sound like I’m in my twenties. I’m a very mature thirty-nine-year-old student,” he objects with a grin. “We’re practically the same age.”
“Well, not quite. When you were born I was the advanced aged of five, learning to write.” I reply with a shrug.
“That’s an odd way of looking at it. Besides, you may be ahead of me in age but I make up for it with the life experience I've gathered on my travels.” His eyes are locked on me, with amusement but also something else, something like determination to prove me wrong.
“ Qualcosa di dolce? ” the waitress interrupts and holds out a small menu.
Omar leans forward and says with an edge in his voice, “She asked if you want something sweet.” There is something so intense in his eyes, I have to swallow hard as all sorts of images come to my mind… naughty thoughts.
I accept the menu but don’t look at it. I stay focused on Omar.
“ Due tiramisù, per favore, ” he says to the waitress without taking his eyes of me.
“Who says I want tiramisu?” I ask him after the waitress heads back to the kitchen.
“We have been in this country for two weeks and you’ve always had tiramisu,” he beams at me triumphantly. He’s right, of course he’s right. But I desperately want to wipe that smug look off his face. It unsettles me when he takes control. Not in a bad way, in a way that makes me squeeze my thighs together to stop that pulsing in my core.
“I guess a husband knows best,” I say before draining the last of the wine from my glass. That does the trick.
“I deserved that,” he mumbles and ruffles his hair. When he’s done it sticks up wildly and I want to slide my fingers through to put it back in place.
“It’s okay, I’m sure we’ll survive one night,” I shrug. “Can I ask you something Omar?”
“Sure.” His hands are calmly folded on the table in front of him. I’ve noticed that not much rattles him. Well, aside from when I turn into a vomit spewing entity or when he has to lie.
“Why are you such a defender of singledom? Most people our age at least have a tragic or less tragic divorce story to tell. But you seem to be determined to not go anywhere near relationships.” He doesn’t talk a lot about himself but he has made that point abundantly clear.
“I—” He’s interrupted as the waitress places enormous portions of tiramisu in front of us. I shuffle a spoonful into my mouth before she’s even had the chance to walk away.
“Oh, wow. I’m having a food orgasm,” I moan. Omar’s expression changes, he looks more tense and I swear his pupils expand. “Sorry, you were saying?” I prompt him.
“I’ve seen first-hand that happily ever afters don’t exist and I just have no interest in dealing with heartbreak.” I study him as he shifts his focus to his dessert and devours a spoonful of deliciousness.
“Someone broke you heart?” I ask.
“My dad didn’t just leave us, he decided one woman wasn’t enough for him and cheated on my mum when I was sixteen. She offered to give him a chance if he gave up the other woman. I guess she was still in love with him, despite everything. He left a week later saying he wasn’t a one woman man.” He drops his spoon to the plate and takes a sip of water.
“I’m sorry. And because of that you think happy relationships don’t exist?” I probe tentatively.
“I’m a cheater as well. I’m like him.”
I wait for him to say more but he takes a spoonful of tiramisu.
“Yeah, I need more here.” He can’t just drop a bomb like that on me and leave it.
“I… it’s stupid. I was eighteen or nineteen, I had a girlfriend. We weren’t really serious, when you’re eighteen how serious can it really be? But nevertheless we were in a relationship and I cheated on her. I went to a party without her and fooled around with another woman.”
“And?”
“I broke up with Sonja and promised myself no relationships. I’m as toxic as my dad.”
“A tad dramatic, don’t you think? For a start you learned from your mistake and he clearly didn’t.” I scoop the last spoonful of tiramisu up with a tiny bit of sadness. Despite being full I wish it would never end.
“Maybe. I don’t know. But look around and everyone is getting divorced or breaking up. No relationship lasts forever.”
“Well, I know plenty of happy couples, Amelia and Ben, Lizzie and Coop, your cousins all seem to be very happy,” I object.
“Yes, and my mum and her boyfriend, and Russ and his girlfriend. For now. Who knows how long it’ll last” he objects. There is genuine conviction in his face.
“Let me ask you something. You like going on holiday, right?”
“Yes,” he replies, puzzled.
“Well you know holidays will end eventually you can still enjoy them, learn from them, take pleasure from them. Even if a relationship doesn’t last forever, don’t you think you can enjoy it while it lasts? Can it not enrich your life?” Why do I feel like a hypocrite?
Omar’s eyes find mine, “I… I guess, maybe… hang on, didn’t you also say that you don’t want a relationship?” Oh, yes, that’s why I’m a bloody hypocrite.
“We’re not talking about me,” I object weakly.
“Tell me how your situation is different from mine?” he challenges with a smirk.
“I… my marriage was good and I got two amazing children out of it,” I defend myself.
“And yet you say you no longer want a relationship.” He won’t let me off the hook that easily.
“A woman can decide that she wants to be single,” I try the feminist route.
“Sure, but that’s not what this is. You’re also cynical about relationships,” he points at me with a victorious grin.
Didn’t I have similar concerns about Christopher and Ruthie’s relationships?
“I think it’s more that I’m concerned about getting hurt… about my kids getting hurt if it doesn’t work out,” I say quietly. I think this is the first time I’ve admitted this to myself.
“So you don’t go on holiday either because you worry about it ending.” Omar gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
“I guess we’re both love hermits,” I eventually say with a weak smile.
“Guess so,” he returns my smile. I take a sip of wine contemplating what to say next. Having said what’s holding me back from a new relationship out loud actually makes me quite sad. Maybe I don’t want to be a hermit. We finish our wine in silence, lost in thought.
Omar is still frowning and for some reason I feel the urge to make him smile or cheer him up. I don’t like seeing him so… sad.
“Look at us, we’re in the land of dolce vita and l’amore and we are leading the anti-love coalition,” I giggle but something has shifted between us. So many emotions and questions seem to swirl around. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I’m your first wife,” I say and I’m not sure why.
Omar swallows hard before whispering, “Me too.”